The Mirror of Erised
by hellions
Summary: Draco encounters the Mirror of Erised in first year, and what he sees surprises him. He visits the mirror every following year till Eighth, when Harry Potter himself drags him to the mirror and asks him what he sees. NOT COMPLETE: straightforward, blunt perspective: Draco frustrated, aggressive perspective: Harry Eventual SMUT.


MALFOY

( _first year_ )

There's this mirror in front of me, massive and etched. I was following Harry and his new friends - that muggleborn and the Weasley- till the muggleborn almost spotted me. This is where I ran, the only room in the vicinity.

I sit down right in front of it- the only source of light in the room is the glow of the mirror. I decide I quite like the way I look in it, hair and whatnot. I slick some oh my locks back- they aren't nearly as long as I'd like them to be. Father says I'm not to have it that length yet, so I reckon it'll stay this way till I'm done with Hogwarts.

It's a shame, really, because in this mirror, my hair looks longer. Shinier and paler too, but I quite adore it. That's when my gaze travels to my face, and I notice I look way more ravishing- older, definitely. Have I grown in the last month without noticing?

It doesn't seem quite so possible, but Father said he had a mad growth spurt in his second year or third year: I might be blooming early.

My cheeks look fuller- more bouncy. And I'm not wearing robes at all- which is a nasty bit of a shock, considering I look to my lap and spot the school robes still on. Wicked. This mirror's probably enchanted.

I spot I'm sporting some blue, thick material for pants- it looks an awful lot like the denim fabric I've seen muggles in when we're travelling or at stations. But it can't really be, can it? I'm also wearing this ineffably super shirt. It clings on to me in a very… private sort of manner. Like my chest's developed.

Wicked.

But it all doesn't even compare to the fright I get when I see Harry Potter standing right behind me. Merlin's beard! I whip around, mouth open, but he's not there. I look around every inch of the room. It's all so confusing. I look back in the mirror and see him standing, smiling at my back.

I whip around again. No sign of him.

I look back almost compulsively and he's walked up to me now, he's right at my side. Still standing up. My eyes are drawn to the mirror in ways I cant explain, and i don't have enough a will to force myself to look away. Father would hate that. I'd probably get whipped for it. I shudder involuntarily, then focus.

Harry – in the mirror- stretches his hand out to me, palm open, fingers almost beckoning mine to join.

He has on the most fitting smile- his cheeks bounce right up and his green eyes glimmer. His hand holds itself out to me, and I take it. I feel like I don't have to waste a second choosing- this comes as easily to me as breathing does.

His lips move like he's trying to say hello, but there's no sound coming. I look around again. My reflection says- mouths- a 'hi', and I see my cheeks redden the slightest. This is what it would be like, I reckon, to be friend with Harry Potter.

I see next, the both of us riding on brooms together, laughing and talking and smiling all the way. We're in my countryside house- both roaring with laughter and grinning while flying out into the valleys and mountains nearby.

I reckon Goyle or Crabbe could ever even change their expressions enough to grin. They'd be much more likely to grunt.

I sit in front of the mirror for the longest possible time, transfixed, and then do I see the sun catch up with me from the windows. I head back to my dormitory with the strangest smile plastered over my face. I'm certain this wasn't real, but maybe Harry will look at me differently tomorrow? Maybe he's grin and I'll grin back.

Like we're each other's secret.

( _second year_ )

I've been back to that mirror zero time since last term, till right now.

Somehow, it finds me.

When I realized what I saw in it was fake, I remember wanting to shout at Potter. Wanting to sneer at him, make up the wittiest remark I could and work up the courage to say it like I meant it.

The next day at breakfast, the next day after I saw us in the mirror, he did look at me.

He looked at me and laughed. That Weasley shit was laughing too, talking on top of his obnoxious grunts. That's when I yelled loudly at him, sneered, and turned my attention away.

I let go of any chance I was holding on to.

And right now, all I'm thinking is I wont let the mirror bewitch me.

I'll see whatever it shows me, whatever that is, and I'll leave with my heart not throbbing like it did the last time.

I know I wont regret it.

There've been several theories for me to consider since that encounter- the most likely is that someone bewitched the mirror as a joke, and it shows you the oddest possible situations.

The oddest, strangest, and definitely most disturbing.

Right now, after that muggle born and the prefect got petrified, I need something odd. And strange. I cant decide on disturbing.

I stand in front of it looking how I always look. I cant notice a single change. Like the last time, I find Potter sneaking up on my reflection .i don't bother looking around this time. I just stare. This time, I look back – I as in my mirror self- and hug Potter. It's not a hug per se, but that shoulder/arm/ palm embrace thing I've seen him to with the Weasley . it's like half- hugging. We're both grinning like _chums_. I – the real, Potter-less self- cross my arms and huff. Like people were watching. It occurs to me that I'm alone. And no one's looking at me. My arms let go of each other and I sit. Then it feels all wrong, so I lie on my stomach , elbows propped with my legs moving up. Ninety degrees. I watch Potter and I laugh, talk, eat.

The idea seems so preposterous to me right now- I'm such a dumb old prat, screaming at him, sneering at him. whatever this mirror's on about, I can definitely see how I'd like it. This is fun, this is what real friendships feel like. Not like Goyle or Crabbe at all.

It's more or less like the last time, but it's just as enticing. I could go like this all year.

( _third_ _year_ )

I've been arguing with myself for the longest time- do I go? I want to. But Father's been very clear. _Your life is hard because of your position in our society, Draco, and you're being raised in a way that will, someday, make you fit for my position as head of the Malfoy family. You're to put your needs before anyone else's. You're to put your family first. But what you want.. just know some things are better left uncared for. It doesn't do good knowing there are things which leave you vulnerable and then entertaining them. You're to eradicate them, understand, boy?_

It was after a whipping. Thirty or so lashings. Father says he has scars too, and there's no shame in it. But it's also not for the world to see. Father says it's for the best. I hardly ever get what he says.

But I play my part, I play it day and night and then break down when I get here.

I'm always playing. This year's been hell bent on making me feel miserable. It's more me than the year, I suppose. I think I like the pit I'm creating for myself. I'm scared out of my bollocks, all the time. I cant ever show it.

Like I said, I play my part.

Always.

The room's not the same when I get here- it's way darker. The mirror glows like always, but it doesn't show me anything yet. I'm not nearly close enough.

I'm urged to carry on and get done with it, but the room's achingly dark. And I can just feels something here.

I raise my wand- I don't even know what to do with, I don't even know what I'm expecting- and walk far behind the mirror. I hadn't noticed the room went this far back. Soon enough, a couple or steps or more in, I can feel something churn.

There's a weird 'crack!' and I can feel something breathing on me. I retire a few steps back where there's enough light.

And I see Potter.

But the mirror's all the way across the room, and I'm on its back side. I see Potter sneering, sneering vindictively. The expression etched upon his face is full of loathing. He draws out his wand and points it at me.

'You scum, ' he whispers, 'you foul, useless scum.'

He sneers in a way that makes me fall back. I'm on the floor now, looking up at Harry, who's seemed to have grown taller by the minute. My wand's fallen out of my hand because I cant feel it, but I don't have enough sense in my right now to look for it- or at it.

'you're stupid enough to think I could ever be friend with you, aren't you?'

Harry has never looked like this at anyone before. I'd know. Then why me? Why is it always me?

'As if,' he raises his voice, ' I could ever even be bothered by the son of a Death eater! I know what your father is, and I know you'll be just like him.' he sneers. Again. And breaks into the most loathsome smile I've ever seen.

I'm crying. The tears tug out of me without asking. I'm cowering at Harry's feet. This feeling, this horrible, horrible excuse of a feeling tears through me and I'm shuddering, shaking as he goes on and on about the bastard I am.

'AS IF I WOULD EVER BEFRIEND YOU,' he roars, 'AS IF I COULD EVER LOVE THE LIKES OF YOU!'

And that's when I remember what Lupin told us.

I look for my wand, grab it, raise it at Harry who seems to be dragging on and on, and cast.

'Riddikulus!'

Nothing happens. I think of a memory, of anything funny enough to take this back but my mind is a nursing home for dread.

I think of Harry and I, the way we laughed and grinned and snorted in the mirror. Whatever that was, I know it's not strong enough- it's not _funny,_ it's happy. But I try. I try and try till 'Riddikulus!' and the Boggart disappears.

I'm sweating. I sprint to the mirror and sit in front of it, with my knees almost touching it.

I take my robes of and my sweater off till I'm in my shirt- sweat soaked.

I look at the mirror.

I don't know what I expect.

There's Harry again.

He sits beside mirror me with his knee bumping against mirror me's. they both smile at each other. And Harry sits up, on his knees, now a foot taller than my reflection- who's still smiling. I can only see Harry's side now, and mirror me's grinning, dazed face.

Harry settles himself on top of me, and smiles against my cheek. Then he kisses my forehead, staring into my eyes with so much affection that my back straightens itself and I sit upright.

He holds my face by the sides, and kisses me. I can't feel anything- I have to remind myself it's mirror me that he's kissing- but I feel so dazed, so confused, and it feels so right. It feels right but at the same time I know how this is something I could be whipped to death for.

I think I'm… infatuated with Harry Potter. Whatever this mirro had in mind while showing me this, it's the only conclusion I can draw.

I watch him kiss me in all the ways he can. I sit there till it's time for breakfast- I don't sneak off to the dorm to get a two- hour sleep like I did.

At the same time every inch of skin I have is tugging at itself getting frayed over the thought of me with Harry, and every ounce of sense I have transforms into dread and emptiness and total awareness of the fact that _I like Potter_ till I'm a bloody Dementor myself.

At breakfast, I don't even look his way. I can't. it takes me two days to get over myself.

I keep avoiding the thought but all my cells are bursting out Potter's name and I can't keep to myself anymore.

I have to remind myself that if I kiss him, he'll murder me.

He ought to; it'd be quicker than what Father'd do if he found out.

I go to the mirror the third day after.

I go every day till the end of the year. Sometimes for only a minute, sometime hours.

I went to the library to look up the mirror.

It's called the Mirror of Erised. And it shows you what your heart desires.

( _fourth_ _year_ )

I promised myself I'd do it, I'd manage to avoid that mirror.

I'm a liar. And a bastard.

And I'm still playing my part.

This time when I go, I see Potter getting past all those obstacles. I see him taking me to the Yule Ball. I see him getting out of the maze without Diggory dead, without witnessing the Dark Lord's return or _my_ _father_.

I see him kissing me much more fervently than all those times before. We have our shirts off. And sometimes more than our shirts. There are scenes in which the mirror shows me crying on Harry's lap while he comforts me.

There are times when I'm yelling at him and hexing him and he just takes it all without so much as a grimace and then he pulls me into him.

Today, I see myself in a Gryffindor scarf, in what I imagine to be the Gryffindor common room. Weasley and Granger are sitting in front of me. I'm in Potter's lap, curled up. Wearing Gryffindor robes even.

This is bullshit.

I grab my sweater from the floor and get up to leave when I see the door open for someone.

I cast a tempti charm- it's more of an invisibility shield than a charm- and wait to see who's coming in.

It's the last day before the year ends: I cant imagine who'd be away from their friends to come here.

The door swings completely open and there's still no one.

It closes and Potter takes off his invisibility cloak.

 _Potter_.

He lets the cloak go while walking to the mirror, and I resist the urge to run away with it. It'd probably smell like him.

He sits in front of the mirror just like I do.

Goddamn, Potter. Always in my way.

I can't see what he's seeing. I didn't know it worked like that.

Until he starts murmuring.

I walk closer, and I feel like such an intruder. If he manages to see me somehow, he'll kill me. I know it for sure.

I'm standing right next to him- I walked as quietly as I could- and I can hear him completely now.

He's sobbing.

I want nothing more than to comfort him.

'I didn't know, Cedric, I'm so sorry.'

I didn't know either.

His voice sounds bent on destroying itself. He's barely even whispering.

'I don't know what I'm doing, I'm so sorry. _Fuck_.'

That takes me by surprise: even I haven't really ever cussed.

But it sounds so gratifying coming from his lips, I want to whisper it just as he does right now. I put a hand to my mouth.

' yes, yes. Finally. Please just _stay,'_ he whimpers.

It's as if he can see me standing right here. But I've got to know he isn't talking about me, haven't i? I don't quite know what to make of this and I try to ignore the ache jumping in my chest.

I try to ignore it all.

I walk out.

I don't think at all about Potter wanting me.

I just don't think.

( _fifth_ _year_ )

I slept with a boy.

During the vacations, I told Mother and Father that I was going to a holiday by myself to think. I did go. America is a wild place. I don't mind saying I quite liked it.

I went to an underage gay muggle bar. I was curious. And I was trying to get Potter off my mind.

There, sitting all by his lonesome just like me was this gorgeous brown haired boy. Green, sap green eyes. Not Potter's brilliant green ones. Sap green. Skin slightly tanned, pink, full lips.

I went to him and talked to him and thirty minutes into the conversation, he lead me to a couch. There were strippers wearing next to nothing everywhere. There, Aiden took off his shirt and cast it to the floor. And kissed me. Held me by the back of my neck. It was all so sudden, all so demanding. I'd ever felt anything quite like it.

He kissed me and held my arms up over my head so I wouldn't move while he marked my neck. I enjoyed all of it. I like Aiden. We went on for the next two months I was there. He's seventeen. He plays the violin. He called himself a kinky fuck.

' _Look, before we do anything you don't want to, you should know I'm a kinky fuck.'_

He thought my name was a fake.

' _Draco Malfoy. Hmm.' He sighed. 'that's such a fucking beautiful name, but it sounds made up. Too beautiful. Still, real or not, credits to you, Draco.'_

I liked his accent.

I liked it when he told me about sex.

I told him I was from this mad religious boarding school in London.

He'd tell me so much.

Talking dirty, he said.

He'd tell me about sex, sex toys, kinks, roleplay. We proceeded to do all of it. And every time we did, I'd imagine a different shade of green looking at me. Brilliant green. I'm still in love with Potter. And I've discovered I'm a kinky shit. A bottom.

I can definitely see Potter topping. Then I stop myself. It doesn't help to think kinky Potter thoughts.

It never helps.

Yet, against all the reason in me, I decide I need a Potter fix.

I go to the room, sit in the mirror and stare. All I've ever done is stare.

I stand in front of the infernal mirror and watch Potter kissing me again. It's strange, watching yourself partake in every mad desire you've had, but never really feeling it. I look like someone lucky to me, when I watch myself in the mirror. When I watch mirror me make Potter moan.

Potter's kissing me tauntingly, I realize. My hands are bound behind me, and he's taunting me with every touch.

I realize what the mirror's showing me.

I'm apparently moaning, and Potter strikes my crotch with his hand to silence me. I'm wearing pajamas. Red, soft ones. They're Potter's.

He kisses up my chest to my neck, and starts biting down there. Mirror me makes some sound again, and ends up with a thumb in his mouth to suck.

This is all Aiden, but better.

I sit down and watch mirror me get fucked in the most sordid ways. By Harry Potter.

I walk out when they- we?- stop. There's got to be cuddling and forehead kisses and the soft, romantic stuff next. That breaks me. At least I got a good wank out of the mirror sex.

( _sixth_ _year_ )

Every minute i'm not fixing the cabinet or in lessons I'm here.

I want to talk to Potter. I want to show him my mark and make him kiss it away or something. (he'll figure out how. He's my miracle boy.)

All he's been doing is following me around.

It's ridiculous.

It's childish.

And it makes me want to give in.

Sometimes, when he corners me, I imagine his face softening and his features melting and him whispering, softly: Draco, I'm in love with you.

But he taunts me and shouts at me and I play my part like I always end up doing.

All I've wanted to do after the Ministry scandal was comfort him.

I thought of writing a letter. A letter confessing my feelings, my confusion, my regret and my sorrow. My lack of choice.

I can't imagine ever sending it to him.

 _Dear Potter,_

 _I've been in love with you since we were children and I realized it right after a Boggart with your face told me he'd never love me, after which I saw us kissing in the mirror of erised._

 _I'm sorry about your godfather._

 _I'm sorry about your life. You never deserved it. You deserve something promising._

 _My family is fucked and I've had to become a Death Eater._

 _The Dark Lord wants me to kill the Headmaster. Which I've got to do, seeing the other option is him wiping off the Malfoys._

 _Every moments I'm not staring at you or doing the Dark Lord's bidding, I'm wanking angrily to you fucking me in the mirror._

 _I'm in love with you._

 _There isn't anything I wouldn't do to protect you. there isn't any line I wouldn't cross to be able to talk to you or touch you or have you happy with me. But I know I can't have it._

 _Please, run._

 _Your chances can't always be tested._

 _Live a little for yourself._

 _Love,_

 _Draco. M._

I did actually write this. It's in my hands now, and I'm in front of the mirror. Just like every other time.

I cast the letter to fire, then put my wand back on the floor.

Then look straight ahead.

I watch Voldemort die.

And Harry run from behind him into my arms.

And Father and Mother shaking hands with and embracing Potter.

I watch the dark mark disappear from my arm the moment Harry touches it.

I close my eyes and sleep beside the mirror.

I wonder if I'll dream of him.

I dream of him a lot. But he's either dying, or fucking me.

I wonder if I'll get a proper Potter dream fix.

( _seventh_ _year_ )

I watch Voldemort die. I watch Harry somehow survive, happily, with all his friends alive and around him. I watch us fucking. I watch my parents and Potter. And I watch myself fighting the War, against the Death Eaters.

I know the war's coming.

I've no idea where I'll stand.

All I know is, I'll be protecting Potter.

Always.


End file.
